


Blowing Smoke

by tatterwitch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, M/M, Marijuana, Punk Castiel, Punk Dean, Shotgunning, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 09:27:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6418039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatterwitch/pseuds/tatterwitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Dean?” A trace of solemnity hovered in Castiel’s voice. </p>
<p>“’S fine, Cas. Just…Just a bad day.”</p>
<p>The springs of the couch groaned. Long fingers carded through Dean’s hair. The smell of smoke grew stronger as Castiel leaned closer, letting his lips feather over Dean’s ear.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry. Do you want to talk about it?”</p>
<p>Dean smiled against the rim of the bottle. </p>
<p>“Nah. Not really. Just don’t want to even think about it.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blowing Smoke

It had been a long-ass day. 

Dean shuffled through the door, boots dragging across the welcome mat. The television was murmuring in muted tones around the corner. The smell of smoke was thicker than it had been when he’d left that morning for work. Hell, after the day he’d had, a cold beer sounded pretty damn good.

His boots thudded as he toed them off, kicking them to the edge of the rug before draping his jacket over a chair. The kitchen fridge hummed, sound enhanced when the door creaked open beneath his palm. Hazy white light filled the interior of the cold box, illuminating the meager pickings within. 

Shit. They’d probably have to call out later. ‘Cause there was no way in hell Dean was heading back out for any reason. 

Castiel was draped across the couch, limbs loose and stretched over the worn material. His navy hair was a wreck, completely devoid of the neatness that had been present before Dean departed that morning. Also missing was Castiel’s shirt. Not that Dean was complaining.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel’s voice soothed over Dean’s ragged nerves like some sort of balm. In fact, just being near his boyfriend was like a tonic to the toxic waste Dean constantly felt was swimming through his veins. 

The carpet was rough under Dean’s ankles as he curled himself onto the floor. He leaned back against the couch, tipping the beer bottle against his mouth. Cool liquid ran down his throat, a bite of the alcohol making his lips pucker. 

“Dean?” A trace of solemnity hovered in Castiel’s voice. 

“’S fine, Cas. Just…Just a bad day.”

The springs of the couch groaned. Long fingers carded through Dean’s hair. The smell of smoke grew stronger as Castiel leaned closer, letting his lips feather over Dean’s ear.

“I’m sorry. Do you want to talk about it?”

Dean smiled against the rim of the bottle. 

“Nah. Not really. Just don’t want to even think about it.”

The couch squeaked again before long, blunt fingers were holding something slender and white before his nose.

“Want to share?” 

Dean’s immediate reaction had always been to decline. He was more of a drinker than a smoker. Hell, the smell had always seemed to rub him wrong before he met Cas. It wasn’t that he was adverse to weed or anything. He just…He’d never really seen the point when alcohol worked well enough. But after today…

He set his beer aside and curled his legs beneath himself, propping one arm on the edge of the couch. The heat from Castiel’s thigh seeped through the frayed material of his black jeans. Dean’s hand fisted by Castiel’s hip and he was briefly taken with the idea to trace the backs of his fingers over the bulge behind that fly. 

“Yeah. Yeah, sure.”

Those wide blue eyes blinked, a fast bat of sooty eyelashes. Some kohl was smeared by the corner of one eye, a casualty of the knuckling Cas did when he grew tired. He seemed surprised that Dean had agreed, but ultimately, his mouth quirked, pleasure practically radiating from his half-clothed form.

Castiel rolled, one hand slipping into his back pocket, reappearing with a boxy pink lighter. The end of the joint lit easily, amber slowly climbing up the browning edges. He pinched it between his lips and lifted his hands toward Dean.

“Come here.”

Dean obeyed, slotting himself over Castiel. Their hips bumped together, belt-buckles clashing with a quiet metallic noise. 

Castiel’s chest swelled, the sea of black, swirling ink over his skin rising hypnotically. With one hand, he plucked the slender thing from between his lips. His free hand palmed the nape of Dean’s neck, fingers stroking through the shorter hairs at the back of his head. He drew Dean down until their mouths meshed. Then, with a gentle move, his lips drifted open with Dean’s.

Smoke, hot and heavy, rolled over Dean’s tongue. He drew it in, chasing the flavor across Cas’ lips. 

After a few repetitions, Dean found himself floating in a pleasant haze. The joint slowly petered out between the two of them, ending up as nothing more than a stub in the silver bowl by the couch.

Castiel’s hands roamed over his body, stopping to ruck up his t-shirt and shove his jeans down. Those blunt fingertips dug into his ass as Dean lazily rolled his hips between Castiel’s legs. At some point, they’d both gotten their pants off enough for their cocks to brush together. Pre-come slicked the way for the gentle motions. 

Dean groaned when Cas’ mouth found the sweet spot on his neck. His hips bucked, making the pair of them hiss. Slowly, surely, they rocked each other toward orgasm; electing to ignore the sticky mess that coated both their bellies. At least, until Castiel rolled them both and crawled down Dean’s body to lap away the leavings. All but their boxers were discarded after that as they laid over one another on the couch and dozed.


End file.
